Money
by Stefan Twoflower Gagne
Summary: Written for a Halloween group fanfic project. Nabiki gets everything she ever wanted in life, for a price.


Ranma 1/2 : Money  
  
A Ranma 1/2 Fanfic by Stefan "Twoflower" Gagne  
  
(All characters copyright Rumiko-sama, obviously. If I ever  
even considered claiming that these were my own characters I'd  
probably be thrown into a small cell where I'd be forced to  
eat my own soul to live.)  
  
$  
  
I'll do the official author foreword in a moment, but first,  
a word from our sponsors...  
  
* A Note From Kensu:  
* What is this? Why did we do this? What is that stuff in the  
* inside of Twinkies? This header will answer this question.  
  
* 1This is the result of a collabaration between four of the best  
* known Ranma fanfic authors on the 'net;. Me, Kensu, who wrote  
* Mamono Hunter Ranma 1/2 and Original Flavor. Stefan Gagne, who  
* wrote such memorable fanfics as "Wicked Garden" and "Ministry of  
* Confusion". The Legenedary John Walter Biles, who stunned the  
* world with "Putting your heart in the right place" "Elseworlds"  
* "Still Waters Run Deep" and many MANY others. And Roy Rim, who  
* graced the world with the lemon-psychological thriller "Split  
* Personalites"  
  
* 2Why did we do this? Kensu (me) thought up the fact that there  
* has never been a Ranma 1/2 Halloween episode. Which isn't really  
* that strange, but I thought that it was about time someone wrote  
* one. After reading the Ninja High School 1995 Yearbook, I thought  
* it would be nice to have some of the more famous Ranma 1/2  
* authors write a story based on Halloween. Thus, I sent out E-  
* Mails. The only authors who never replied were Christian Gadekan  
* and Karl Rim. Well, maybe next year. :) (Does anyone know Karl  
* Rim's updated address?)  
  
* 3It's lard. No kidding, it's lard. OH NO, WE'RE GOING TO GET  
* SUED! :)  
  
$  
  
(Author Foreword.)  
  
Disclaimer. It's not much of a Ranma 1/2 story, and I really  
do apologize in advance for that to my readers. It's not funny.   
It's not silly. It's not Takahashi.  
  
When approached with the idea of doing a Halloween Ranma  
story, I figured, 'GREAT! Horror! Always fun to write.' And I  
had planned on it being more Rumik in nature, but clearly I was  
developing a story which I liked -- but which wasn't fitting the  
criteria of the anime series in question.  
  
Instead of stopping, I continued, and got something of merit  
from it. This is a tale of human nature, the way the supernatural  
is totally natural, and the evils we do in the name of society and  
progress. It's a tale of the falling and rising of the soul.   
Perfectly appropriate material for Halloween, especially in a day  
and age where we move beyond silly, campy evil and into some more  
serious explorations of the topic.  
  
If you want to be entertained, move on.  
  
If you want to think, read on.  
  
And if this intro alone has scared you, that's a good sign.   
It means you're still alive.  
  
$  
  
Nabiki cruised along, light coming from the car behind her  
glinting off the recently polished rear view mirror, glinting off  
her mirrored sunglasses, and glinting back into the road ahead of  
her. Anybody foolish enough to step in front of her Porsche as it  
whipped along the road at insane speeds would have noticed the  
eerie effect of her car having four headlights before they got  
turned into chiseled spam.  
  
The car behind her revved up, and shifted lanes. Apparently,  
it was some foolhardy moron, quite willing to try to outrun  
Nabiki's well tuned speedster. TRY, mind you. Fine, Nabiki  
thought, I'm game. Nobody can match me.  
  
The guy was driving a basic Japanese economy car. While  
Nabiki loved the Japanese economy and new lax governmental rules  
over business, she couldn't stand the cars. There was no style to  
them. No class. No price tags that stood out long after you had  
pulled the window sticker off, no invisible tags that screamed out,  
"I'm so stinking rich that I can not only own a car like this, but  
I can afford ANY speeding tickets I receive driving it, AND bribe  
any law enforcement types that object if I feel like it!"  
  
So, Nabiki gunned the engine, which purred and leapt at her  
will, lurching ahead on the road and sticking to it like peanut  
butter, sliding along smooth as teflon. Nabiki smiled, and waved  
a driving-glove covered hand to the car behind her which easily  
accelerated and cruised right in front of her, red tail lights  
glaring down Nabiki's optic nerve like brillo pads.  
  
Nabiki gaped. That car shouldn't be going that fast. And if  
it was, it meant Tendom had some serious business to get to to  
produce engines that could match it. She made a mental note.  
  
The car slowed down rather deliberately, to mock Nabiki's ill  
attempt to outrun it, light casting a nasty red firelight into her  
posh leather interior. Nabiki squinted, and tried to make out the  
license plate, so she could have her underground contacts crush  
this poor sot for daring to mock the CEO of Tendom.  
  
She had learned long ago to read the bar codes being placed on  
license plates nowadays, and read them from a distance of six car  
lengths. It was a helpful skill, and right now the tag seemed to  
read RS7734, diplomatic plate.  
  
A diplomat? Well, whoever he was, his taillights gave a final  
burst as he hit the brakes hard. Nabiki yelped and swerved,  
skidding to a halt, knowing full well that her car was designed  
more for power than crash safety. The annoying domestic car that  
nearly totalled her picked velocity and peeled out, leaving small  
flametrails behind its tires.  
  
She blinked. Working too late. Definitely. Seeing things.   
She reasserted her place on the road and sailed onward, towards  
home.  
  
$  
  
"Lights," Nabiki requested, and the house illuminated itself.   
A delightful technology; she was glad her corporation had come up  
with it first and landed the patents before those wimps at Sony  
could. It was one of the last battles Sony bothered to fight  
before caving to Nabiki's money machine empire.  
  
Nabiki tossed her jacket on the couch. The servants could  
hang it up properly later; right now, she wanted a stuff drink and  
a good book. It was a rough week, what with three hostile  
takeovers and a legal battle over the rights to a genetic  
experiment which had tried to defect over to Greenpeace and escape.   
Nabiki managed to prove he was property via some careful research  
(not into ethics, mind you, research into finding the right lawyers  
for the task) and one or two well placed bribes, and that was that.  
  
Normally, a socialite and businesswoman could adjust to the  
hectic pace of life gradually. Not Nabiki. She was only twenty  
three. Fastest rise to the top of the business world in history,  
propelling technology and society at an equal speed. On the cover  
of People magazine, as well as Time and Fortune and Mad. It was  
quite an achievement. But still, it was tiring. She could handle  
the fatigue, though, knowing that millions of yen poured into her  
coffers every day.  
  
Nabiki kicked off her shoes, and collapsed on a chair.   
RS7734. There's one speed demon who'll be sorry he crossed her  
path, gaijin or not. She'd have to confiscate the car, of course,  
take it apart and see what makes it tick. But the whole situation  
disturbed her, for some reason... and since she paid people to do  
her thinking for her, she tapped her personal communicator.  
  
"Have my private therapist head to the foyer, please," Nabiki  
said, and within two minutes he was there.  
  
"Hai, madame chairwoman?" the doctor asked. He didn't  
resemble a doctor at all, really, since Nabiki didn't like the  
whole white lab coat deal. Her union of Tendom and Microsoft (and  
marriage to Bill, who of course became Tendou Bill) showed her new  
techniques to make business more comfortable and personable... but  
just as ruthlessly efficient. The doctor had all the tools he  
required, but they were hidden in better places than a nerdy, over-  
intellectual pocket protector.  
  
"I think I got a memory flashback, and I want you to explain  
it," Nabiki said.  
  
The doctor nodded, pulling out a small palmtop computer and  
pen. "Please describe your situation for the memory search."  
  
Nabiki detailed it, the car, the speed, the plates, the tail  
lights which she was still blinking to get rid of the spots caused  
by. The doctor fed it into the computer, ran a search on Nabiki's  
memory, and handed her the playback disc.  
  
"This is the results of the grep for cars bearing similar  
design or license plate," he said. "As usual, I will let you  
review at your leisure, and no record of my visit will show on your  
bill of health."  
  
Nabiki nodded, and the doctor left, his only task in life  
complete. It was vital that nobody found out about Nabiki's few  
little quirks. She had an image to maintain, after all. Any of  
her competitors that found out about the doctor would have to be  
destroyed.  
  
Those quirks were way too abnormal to even consider telling  
anybody but her private doctor (who she made a habit of keeping  
under memory surveillance, to prevent him from remembering her  
little problem for more than six weeks at a time). The dreams, the  
flashbacks; all usually consisting of the same thing, involving the  
same man, the man whose face she couldn't see. All she remembered  
was his laugh. It wasn't a nice laugh at all. It was a laugh  
she'd hear minor twangs of in people who hated her for destroying  
their lives and assimilating their companies. The laugh of an  
enemy.  
  
She made sure to edit the laugh out of a recording of her  
nightmares, and give it to her security forces. Anybody matching  
that laugh was to be shot on sight. No explanation why, and her  
guards fell in step at Nabiki's whim, paid extra not to have moral  
questions about their orders. They could worry about coverups  
later, if the laughing man was of any importance. Nabiki was not  
blind to second sight, and knew a prophetic dream when she saw one.   
Precautions were a good thing to have in such cases.  
  
$  
  
Nabiki settled down to sleep, putting on her expensive but  
quite covering pajamas, which were more for her comfort than Bill's  
excitement. She didn't believe in bothering to arouse her husband,  
since the marriage was strictly for business reasons, and he slept  
every night in another bed. In Seattle. They'd swap love notes  
occasionally, ghost written, over the net so that packet sniffers  
could receive them. It was a game, in a way, an amusing ruse.   
Nabiki had to admit, Bill's ghost writers were VERY good. The  
perfect balance of bodice-ripper romance and tawdriness and good  
old fashioned lovey dovey talk.  
  
This almost made her regret marrying someone who couldn't  
write like that for real. But marriage is little more than route  
to divorce which is route to money, and she felt that eliminating  
the middleman of divorce and getting right to the money was better  
for everybody's images, on the whole. Money was all that really  
mattered in any relationship, anyway.  
  
She fingered the grep-recording the doctor had made, inserting  
it into her Tendom Dreemtyme machine. She replaced her normal  
pillow with the wiry Dreemtyme one, and signaled the machine to  
have her fall asleep within ten seconds. And she did.  
  
$  
  
When you use the Dreemtyme, you're there. Experiencing one of  
your own memories. You don't remember who you 'really' are, in  
present day, until you wake up and analyze what you dreamed. So,  
Nabiki had no concerns as she wandered off to school that day, so  
long ago, in Nerima. (This was before it was levelled to make a  
colossal shopping mall, which draws more income than any of the  
pathetic businesses that were there before.)  
  
Nabiki herself had no concerns, but Saotome Ranma had many.   
He was In Cognito, in his usual pathetic disguise of a cold mask  
and really big glasses and really big breasts. Nabiki could see  
through it instantly, which always puzzled her, since others  
couldn't. There were only three girls in Nerima with pig-tails,  
and Ranma was the only one who had red hair. Didn't people notice  
these things? They couldn't ALL be sheep.  
  
"So, what're you trying to avoid now, Ranma?" Nabiki asked,  
falling in step beside him.  
  
"SHHH! I'm in disguise!" Ranma said, shocked Nabiki had  
noticed who she was.  
  
"Oh, you mean it's you, Saotome? Gosh, I thought I was  
addressing some other Ranma."  
  
"Careful, or you'll blow my cover. Whaddya want?"  
  
"Just curious as to what you did this time."  
  
"I didn't do nothin'!" Ranma balked. "It's all a  
misunderstanding."  
  
"Ah. The usual, in other words."  
  
"I was just avoiding Akane's lunch, as usual," Ranma said. "I  
went to Nekohanten instead to eat, since Shampoo was offering me a  
feast. Then when Ukyou and Akane show at Nekohanten, they demand  
to know why I wasn't eating THEIR feasts."  
  
"You forgot it was the anniversary of your arrival in town  
again, huh?" Nabiki asked, constantly wondering why some people  
chose to see that as a reason to celebrate. "Boy, no wonder Akane  
was mad."  
  
"Since they were gonna be overly sensitive girls again, I  
sneaked off," Ranma said. "I think I'm gonna have to stay female  
for awhile until this cools off. Sheesh, I HATE being a female."  
  
Nabiki's mind ticked away, twisting this situation with new  
angles, looking for a place she could intercede... and profit. She  
grinned. "Say, how about if I get you off the hook?"  
  
"Really? You can do that?"  
  
"Certainly."  
  
$  
  
"And so, as you can see," Nabiki said, pointing to the group  
of doe-eyed children she had hired out of the local elementary  
school and dressed in rags, "Ranma was involved in a charity eat-a-  
thon being sponsored by Nekohanten. For every bowl he ate, these  
poor, impoverished children would receive a free meal."  
  
"How sweet of you, Ran-chan!" Ukyou smiled. "A real  
humanitarian. And such adorable little kids!"  
  
Akane considered this, but realized to attack this lie would  
mean insulting the kids... if it was true. "Yeah, whatever," she  
dismissed.  
  
"Err, yeah," Ranma said. Nabiki winced. Ranma was terrible  
at lying... the way he put one hand behind his head. The err, umm,  
well, yeah, I guess, uh-huh, hmm, uhh... sounds, grunts to strip  
away the carefully planned farce Nabiki had designed. Honestly,  
Ranma was of such little use, unless you planned on having him hit  
people for a living or some other physical activity.  
  
Akane sighed. "Alright. I see now. Come on, let's go home."  
  
"If you'll excuse us, Akane, Ranma and I need to finish a  
photo shoot with these kids for some paper," Nabiki lied. "We'll  
catch up later."  
  
Akane and Ukyou accepted this, and left.  
  
"Alright, kids, good job," Nabiki said, helping them get off  
the rags she gave them. "One lollipop each."  
  
The children beamed. Such stimulus/response little creatures,  
Nabiki thought sadly. The one on the left looked very much like  
her, way, WAY back when, in a time before... well, before the not-  
quite-such-a-landmark event of her mother's death. Nabiki didn't  
care after that about having parents. Dad was a sop. As long as  
she could make money and sustain herself, parentals weren't  
particularly needed. Kasumi'd clean the house and Nabiki could  
handle herself. She didn't miss her mother. Not one bit. No.  
  
"I can't believe they fell for it," Ranma said, snapping  
Nabiki out of her memory trip. "I thought I was a goner!"  
  
"Ranma, Ranma, Ranma. You have never quite learned the way of  
the lie."  
  
"Lying is dishonest. I'd never want to stain my honor as a  
martial artist with it," Ranma said, crossing his arms.  
  
"Hate to say it, but you just did, Ranma-kun," Nabiki smiled.   
"Look, it's not so bad. The kids are gonna get fed, just by their  
parents. Just a little white lie, and it doesn't hurt; if anything  
this benefits you."  
  
"Benefit?"  
  
"Certainly! Now, you're a humanitarian. What better way to  
keep the fiancees from getting mad at you? Remind them of your  
noble service."  
  
"What noble service?"  
  
"This one, of course. Just tell yourself you really did it,  
smile, and nod your head. The truth is just a lie on fact with a  
slight bias in one direction or another. And this is good bias,  
right?"  
  
"Hmmm... that makes sense," Ranma said, nodding, but not quite  
getting it. "Alright, that works. I'll go with it. You sure do  
know a lot, Nabiki."  
  
"One must be wise of the ways of the world and ready to accept  
them if they want to succeed in it," Nabiki smiled. "We don't live  
in the dark ages anymore, Ranma."  
  
$  
  
The Dreemtyme must have grepped too wide, because the car  
didn't arrive until later that day.  
  
Nabiki was busy roaming up and down the shopping district,  
taking notes. As an avid consumer of technology, she often would  
critique features and pricing and even store location... little  
cliff notes for when SHE was a business tycoon, things to look out  
for.  
  
Often, Nabiki mused over thoughts of being king of the he...  
queen of the heap. It was an enjoyable little fantasy to a basic  
high school hustler, and she could probably do it, given enough  
time and schooling and whatnot... she didn't know at the time how  
soon the dream would happen.  
  
The car read ST7734 in the old plate code, and wasn't the same  
model as the one from present day. But it still was quite fast,  
and the tail lights had been overamplified, lighting the road  
behind it with a dull red as it went along. An economy car...  
built with price efficiency in mind, designed for someone who had  
better things to do with their cash than buy superior transport.   
It peeled to a halt in front of the store Nabiki was window-  
browsing, and the driver stepped out.  
  
The driver was totally unremarkable. Middle aged. Slightly  
balding. Grey suit, power tie. Something of a tire around the  
waist. He walked up next to Nabiki, not noticing her at all; he  
was more interested in the hardware on display.  
  
"PhotoCD players," he commented to himself... but why would he  
comment to himself, with Nabiki right there? "I can't believe they  
sell them as single units. Too expensive, considering that a  
computer can handle the format with software that costs nearly one  
tenth of the price."  
  
"Exactly..." Nabiki said, puzzled. Wasn't that one of the  
notes she had made today?  
  
"Oh, sorry. Please let me introduce myself. I'm a man of  
wealth and taste," he said, handing Nabiki a business card. "At  
least, I like to think I am. I'm a businessperson, like yourself."  
  
"Err, charmed," Nabiki said, glancing at the card. 'STAN :  
CEO', it read, without mentioning the company. Red lettering on  
cheap black paper.  
  
"I was wondering if you'd like a ride home?" Stan asked.  
  
"Not, not really, considering that that's a fairly obvious way  
to pick up young girls to take somewhere and molest and/or sell  
into slavery," Nabiki said flatly.  
  
"Oh," Stan said. "I forgot the level of paranoia nowadays.   
Well, it's a healthy attitude to sport, even in a safe town like  
Tokyo. Where would you be comfortable talking?"  
  
"I don't really have time to talk. I have an economics test  
to study for," Nabiki said. "I should be going home. Not with  
you, you understand, just the general idea of going home."  
  
"Five minutes of your time, that's all," Stan stated.  
  
"First I'd like to know what we're going to be talking about,"  
Nabiki asked. "Five minutes is still time, and time is money."  
  
"Time is time. What I'd like to discuss with you are several  
technological patents I'd like to unload," Stan said.  
  
"Patents? I'm just a student, mister, not a corporation."  
  
"Oh, but you will be. You will be," he said, with the  
certainty of fanatic.  
  
Nabiki shrugged off the creeping horrors. Maybe the maniac  
had something interesting. And it wouldn't hurt to look.   
"Alright. I can spare a few minutes."  
  
$  
  
"I must say, I've taken clients out to lunch before, but  
you're quite taxing on the petty cash," Stan joked, as Nabiki  
worked on the meal he had to buy to get her to sit down.  
  
"Lunch is the most important meal the day. Now. I'd like to  
ask one question before you start," Nabiki started.  
  
"Namely?" Stan asked, folding his hands in a truly relaxed  
manner.  
  
"Why me? I'm suspecting this is going to be a load of hot  
air, since nobody approaches someone my age unless they're planning  
on taking advantage of them."  
  
"Little things," Stan said. "Your grade level, individual  
scores on tests proving specialty fields. Past reputation and  
confirmed facts of activity. You've got quite a bit of potential  
in you as a businesswoman."  
  
"Naturally," Nabiki nodded.  
  
"But it's not that," Stan said. "It's money."  
  
"Isn't it always?" Nabiki joked, sipping her coffee.  
  
"No, not just in a 'wow, cool, it's money' way. I mean Money  
with a capital Y. A love of it, a desire for it. Money is a  
symbol of power, you see, like voltage for electricity. More money  
means more freedom to do what you want. It's a good thing, to love  
freedom and embrace it."  
  
Nabiki stifled a yawn. This she could get from her Philosophy  
teacher.  
  
"That's why we picked you out, because sure, we could get some  
forty year old tycoon to take our patents, but what would they do?   
They'd just cash them in, add more money to the pile, and yawn. No  
enjoyment in the act whatsoever. You, you don't have a pile yet in  
any real manner, but you contemplate thirst for one. So, why not  
give the patents to the most needy, the most avid up and coming  
person in Japan?"  
  
Nabiki perked an eyebrow. "You really think that of me?"  
  
Stan nodded. "I do. Your greed is a good thing, in my  
opinion, it shows you're willing to go the distance it takes to  
make that money you want. I'm just offering to help you get there  
sooner. Time isn't money, see, because you can't BUY more time.   
If you made the kind of money you could make with my gift later in  
life, what do you have? Forty, maybe fifty years to spend -- no,  
to USE it how you see fit. But if you make it now, you get an  
extra decade or two, plus added fame and popularity."  
  
"Fame is more of an annoyance than a blessing. Popularity  
too," Nabiki said.  
  
"Exactly! It's the money you really want. And that's what  
I'm prepared to give you. Raw, potentially stored money."  
  
"What are these patents, exactly?" Nabiki said. She found no  
problems dealing with this man on a serious level; she saw  
opportunity here, and wanted to reserve doubt for a time when she  
saw the whole picture. THEN she could be skeptical.  
  
Stan pulled a cheap briefcase onto the table, and opened it.   
The insides glowed golden briefly before he closed it, handing a  
series of documents to Nabiki; sealed, except for the headers.  
  
Nabiki stopped eating her hot dog, and examined. 256-BIT  
AFFORDABLE GAMING SYSTEM. LIVE FULL SCREEN 90FPS MPEG COMPRESSED  
STREAMING OVER TELEPHONE CABLE. ALTERNATE FUEL BURNING ENGINE.   
(This amazed her; usually the oil companies bought such patents  
before someone could make the engine. Where did Stan get it?)  
HUMAN-MACHINE INTERFACING DESIGN AND NEURAL NETWORK. THE FINAL  
REVISION OF UNIX. CLONING. CURE FOR CANCER. PCB-EATING VIRUS.   
SENTIENT AND OBEDIENT ARTIFICIAL INTELLIGENCE. Plus stacks of  
other patents, with scientific terms and names she couldn't  
recognize, including sub-micron level reality manipulation and  
dimensional stack sizing.  
  
"Sealed, I notice," Nabiki said, waving a fork at them. "What  
if I agree to whatever price you ask and they turn out to be total  
garbage?"  
  
"Then you will have lost little," Stan shrugged. "You haven't  
heard my price yet."  
  
"Which is?"  
  
"I need an employee," Stan said. "For awhile."  
  
"Define 'employee' and 'awhile.'"  
  
"I require someone I can put in my work force. Sort of an  
executive officer," Stan said. "Since you're quite good with  
words, I figured you could do volunteer work for me. We'd be  
training you on the job, basically like a zaibatsu--"  
  
"Zaibatsu? Ugh. I'm not sure. I've still got high school to  
get through..."  
  
"High school is a complete waste of your time at this point.   
You could start right now under me, and work on getting your niche  
chiseled out with my patents."  
  
"But I couldn't take on TWO jobs. I'd pretty busy getting  
people together who could do something with these patents..."  
Nabiki said, glancing at them. She could FEEL the money potential  
in those things. Each was worth a pile, no, a HORDE of money.   
More than she could make running betting pools on those annoying  
martial artists.  
  
"Alright, I see. I can handle that, I just need SOMEONE to  
fill the position for awhile. Do you know of anybody else we can  
use?" Stan asked.  
  
Unfortunately, that's when Nabiki woke up from her grepped  
memory dream.  
  
$  
  
"It doesn't explain anything," Nabiki grumbled, getting up.   
She knew her words would be picked up by the in-house security  
system, and immediately be routed to her doctor. "I want another  
grep done for the rest of that scene."  
  
The doctor arrived promptly, knowing that Nabiki would want a  
reply to her out-loud summons. "I don't see why. There's no  
information in there that suggests a threat. If I recall, that  
deal was the root of your empire, yes? That's a good thing."  
  
"Yes, but... I can't remember all the details of that dream.   
Why did the machine wake me before the scene was over?"  
  
"It was the end of the recording," the doctor shrugged.   
"Probably it had reached a maximum error inconsistency and aborted.   
You simply have forgotten."  
  
"We live in an age where people *CAN'T* forget anything I  
don't need them to. Find a way to retrieve the information,"  
Nabiki said. "Don't forget who feeds you and keeps your harem from  
seeing the public eye, doctor."  
  
The doctor winced. She knew!  
  
But of course Nabiki knew. Her company sold him the cloning  
equipment to make those five girls, and the AI programming to  
tailor them to his desires. Every transaction, every deal made  
with Tendom is a deal with Nabiki. Nabiki knew her customers very,  
very well.  
  
Besides, it was an idea she had first.  
  
$  
  
Nabiki stepped into her limousine outside the high-security  
Tendom housing complex, ready to face another grueling day at the  
office. This whole dream situation was way too stressful; she'd  
have to relax a bit before arriving at work. Recorded memories  
always put her back into her child mindset, which was far more  
naive and emotional. Ugh.  
  
"Where to, ma'am?" the driver asked. It wasn't her usual  
driver, but that wasn't uncommon, as drivers tended to find out  
things they shouldn't from overhearing Nabiki's phone  
conversations, and had to disappear... putting silencer fields  
around the passenger area would imply Nabiki had something to hide.  
  
"You know where to go," Nabiki said. She considered her  
stress levels, and added, "On second thought, make that location  
#462 on your chart, driver. We'll be making a quick stop before  
going to work."  
  
"Right, boss," the driver smiled, and put the limo in gear.  
  
Nabiki pulled out her cellular, and called her Other Home.   
"Hello, Jerard, ready Kunou-chan #3 for me, if you could. I'm  
going to make a pitstop to calm down a bit before getting to the  
office. Eh? Well, tell them to stop. Yes, I know they only  
listen to me. Just ignore the bad poetry, okay? I'll tame them  
when I arrive. Thanks."  
  
"Stressful day, eh?" the driver asked, as Nabiki folded up her  
phone.  
  
"Just drive," Nabiki ordered.  
  
"Hey, whatever the lady wants," the driver laughed. That  
laugh... "Say, miss, I was wondering. I'm kinda an enterprising  
guy myself..."  
  
"Yeah...?" Nabiki asked, trying to stave off her mind from  
realizing the laugh as long as possible... without knowing an  
effort was being made to stave it.  
  
"I've had a hand in business, and executing orders and getting  
things done m'self. I was wondering if I could suggest a modest  
proposal to you," he said, turning around with a flick of his  
ponytail to look at Nabiki. "I think it'd only be fair,  
considering our past..."  
  
Nabiki gaped. The laugh. The face.  
  
Ranma flipped a lever, and his car dropped the illusion of  
being a limousine. Nabiki was now in the back of economy car  
RS7734, which was rapidly approaching the speed of sound.  
  
"Long time no see," he smiled, in a way that punched straight  
through the opposite end of friendliness and into darkness.  
  
"Let me out," Nabiki ordered. "Let me out NOW."  
  
"Awww, you don't want to talk about old times?" Ranma asked.   
"How about that time you got me out of a pummeling with a lie, and  
used the favor I owed you to duck out of a certain deal? Certainly  
you'd like to talk about THAT."  
  
"You CAN'T be you. You died in the earthquake! We saw your  
body! Akane cried..." Nabiki trailed off.  
  
Ranma winced. "Akane... yeah, I know about her. And I know  
about your deal. I'd like you to meet the man you made that deal  
with."  
  
"I already know him. We keep in contact," Nabiki said,  
folding her arms.  
  
"Oh, not him. That's just the dummy we put in place, so he'd  
still be around. No, I want you to meet my real boss..."  
  
With that, the road in front of them parted, like a fleshy  
valve of asphalt, and the car continued down a long tunnel in the  
earth, which was probably brimstone.  
  
$  
  
Nabiki gaped.  
  
"Hell. Population 462,263,189,526 and then some," Ranma said.   
"I can't believe you didn't figure it out. Probably trying to deny  
it, claiming you couldn't remember who Stan really was... humans do  
that. It's a way of staying comfortably dumb. I know that for a  
fact now."  
  
"You're kidding. This isn't Hell," Nabiki said, looking  
around. "It looks like New York."  
  
"Six of one, half a dozen of another," Ranma shrugged, sitting  
next to her. Nabiki blinked. How'd he get back here? Who's  
driving? "Hell's modernized. We're a thriving urban community.   
Efficient, clean, like an oiled machine. Stan's made a lot of  
changes since last century, since we needed to find SOME way to  
accommodate..."  
  
"No way. I'm having a nervous breakdown," Nabiki said. "This  
isn't happening."  
  
"Man, why is it so hard for people to accept this?" Ranma  
grumbled. "That's half the problem. Takes years to get some  
people to accept where they are and why. We can't get around to  
the torture and reformation process when the prisoner denies fact."  
  
"This isn't Hell. I've seen Urotsukidoji. Where's the  
tortures and big scaly demons and chaotic sadism?"  
  
"Over there," Ranma said, pointing to a row of unassuming  
warehouses on the water... lavafront district. "The Centers. It's  
not good to keep such things out in the open, they smell bad. So,  
we tidy up and contain things. I must say, Nabiki, you've opened  
a door to a great education for me. This has been one hell of an  
internship. So to speak. And now I get to pay you back for it,  
every day of it--"  
  
"You're not Ranma. You're talking above a third grade level  
and you're showing signs of logic capability," Nabiki said. "And  
being considerably meaner."  
  
"Hey, you made me this way," Ranma said flatly.  
  
"I did NOT!"  
  
"Yes, you did. You signed my soul over. Thanks a bundle,"  
Ranma said, but with a bitter tone. "I hate this place. I've had  
to adapt to stay sane, and now I get to play cog in its machine.   
I can admire it, and hate it at the same time. That's the nice  
thing about this, Hell doesn't want you to like it, so you can  
partake in it without needing to enjoy your time here. Kind of  
like life."  
  
Nabiki winced. "Ranma, what did they do to you? You're... a  
lot more bitter, for one thing."  
  
"I could go into detail," Ranma said. "But I won't. You'll  
know soon enough. We're almost there now."  
  
$  
  
Ranma opened the door when RS7734 pulled up to a large office  
complex, and helped the trembling Nabiki out. All in all, it  
resembled a normal city street... if not for the occasional monster  
wandering around with the besuited, betied individuals and the red  
sky.  
  
But the buildings loomed. They were taller than tall, tall  
enough to make you worry they might fall over, and crush you... the  
light, the harsh red light similar to RS7734's brake lights,  
penetrated all areas except certain patches of shadow. But the  
light played tricks with that shadow... some people walked into  
shadow, but not out the other side. Hopefully they were just  
wormholes. Hopefully.  
  
Ranma frowned, and picked up a stray Taco Bell wrapper from  
the sidewalk. The only piece of litter visible. "Honestly,  
they're slacking off in keeping the place clean. Someone in  
sanitation's gonna get a few years treatment if this keeps up.   
I'll have to tell Stan..."  
  
"I don't understand," Nabiki said. "This... it looks hellish.   
But it doesn't FEEL like Hell. It's quite productive..."  
  
"Just because it's Hell doesn't mean it needs to be chaotic,"  
Ranma said, closing the door. "Get Stan to explain his design  
philosophy to you sometime. Come on, the man going to be waiting  
for us."  
  
Nabiki nodded, falling into a slightly unsteady pace behind  
Ranma. Some part of her mind, locked away, wanted to assume this  
was all another bad dream... like the others, where Ranma towered  
over her, hurt her, pushed her around and blamed her for the evils  
he faced... and yes, it WAS Ranma in those dreams. The laugh  
matched. It wasn't the laugh of the Ranma she knew, before the  
quake killed him. It was the laugh of someone put through the meat  
grinder, again and again, until all that was left was the part of  
him that could handle the pain without flinching. Hardened to the  
core.  
  
She considered this. What would it take to change him this  
much?... Hell, probably. And she didn't even want to speculate as  
to why SHE was here, since knew the answer and it didn't appeal to  
her one bit.  
  
So, on the first day, Nabiki remained strong, as the pair  
walked along the hallways of the office building. Hallway after  
hallway. After hallway after hallway after hallway...  
  
Many ordeals start this way, with long journeys, much like the  
Odyssey. Normally they're not through offices, but this wasn't a  
normal ordeal.  
  
$  
  
Nabiki didn't know how long this had taken so far. Hours?   
Days? Days. Had to be weeks. Months, without eating, drinking,  
or sleeping. Ranma didn't seem to care about this, despite the  
grumbling of Nabiki's stomach. She would wear down, as they  
twisted around through the hallways -- all generic, every door with  
a placard and 4 to 5 Far Side cartoons. Patches of black covered  
the points of time where she couldn't walk anymore, and had to  
sleep... please, no more walking... when are we gonna get there...  
  
"Get up," Ranma said, hauling Nabiki to her feet.  
  
"Tired... hungry..." Nabiki whimpered.  
  
"I see you're getting the hang of it already," Ranma said.   
"They'll build up your endurance soon. Don't worry, humans are  
disgustingly adaptive."  
  
Nabiki fell asleep in dreamless sleep, yet again. Ranma  
started to bark an order, but stopped... and just let her sleep.   
A day later, she woke up, refreshed only in the most minor sense of  
the word.  
  
"Where are we?" Nabiki asked.  
  
"The 602nd floor. We're getting close," Ranma said. "I  
phoned up for a few guides to help us the rest of the way... since  
you're too weak to make it without care. Jeez, I'm glad I had some  
martial arts training before arriving. Made the transition  
easier."  
  
Nabiki's muscles were pushed too far over her limits to allow  
her to stand, so Ranma had to help her slowly navigate through the  
halls. The journey was clearly wearing the girl down. Ranma  
didn't envy her this; but it was requested by Stan himself.   
Otherwise, he'd have taken the elevator, which could get him to  
Stan's office in seconds, not years.  
  
They met their guides a few days later, when Nabiki was  
clearly beyond the point where she'd be dead if she wasn't already.   
Instead, she was zombie-like; totally limp, but the mind still  
bubbled on the backburner. Trapped in agony.  
  
Ranma wasn't enjoying this. He thought he would! How many  
times had he fiddled with one of his technological toys, sending  
fantasies of his own punishments of Nabiki into the real world,  
into Nabiki's dreams? He was waiting for this moment to finally  
let her have it for condemning him to suffering. But Nabiki was  
suffering, and suffering a lot... and Ranma wasn't taking pleasure  
in it anymore.  
  
Of course, Ranma was capable of fatigue, too. He put up a  
false front to fight it off, and look more powerful than Nabiki,  
but he was feeling the twinges of going too long without bodily  
care as well. So, he chalked up his softness against his sworn  
enemy to that.  
  
Ranma could smell the guide coming before she arrived. Roses  
have a particular scent to them.  
  
"OOHHOHOHOHHOHOHOHOHOHHOOOO!!!" Kodachi laughed, running in,  
twirling her leather ribbon around her. "You've returned, Ranma-  
sama! I'm so happy. And I see you brought HER."  
  
Ranma winced. Of all the people who died in that earthquake,  
naturally the only one that'd be going where HE would be going was  
Kodachi. All part of the master plan for his sentence, though.   
The horror.  
  
"Heya, 'dachi. Give me a hand here," Ranma requested,  
propping Nabiki's living corpse up. "Did you bring the water  
bottle?"  
  
"Water? Bah! The slave needs no water," Kodachi said. "She  
can't die. She'll experience worse later. Who cares?"  
  
Ranma grumbled. "I ASKED for water. She's in pain.   
Dehydration level three, I'd say."  
  
"Oh, come on now! I'd be no fun to ease her suffering--"  
  
"Are you gonna make me call Stan himself and order this or are  
you gonna get me the goddamn water?!" Ranma snapped.  
  
Kodachi blinked. "My, he receives his spine mail order. Very  
well, since you threaten, the Black Rose can deliver. I'll leave  
my partner to guide you while I fetch fluids."  
  
"Your partner?"  
  
"Oh, yes! I brought one of the Phalli," Kodachi said, as the  
many-tentacled beast trudged into view, looking downright  
ridiculous in the required business suit. It dripped slightly,  
offshoot tentacles sniffing the air around Nabiki. "I figure we  
should give Nabiki a little fun before Stan gets his hooks into  
her. Won't take but a quarter hour."  
  
Ranma glanced at Nabiki, who was too drained to even  
understand what was going on around her. He sighed, replacing his  
basic Hell-mask of bitterness with one of compassion; an emotion  
rarely usable for his job.  
  
"No," Ranma said.  
  
"Awwwwww, why not? OHOHOHHO! She'll get the same treatment  
at one of the many Centers anywa--"  
  
"NO," Ranma said. "Forget it. I'll rip that thing apart if  
it even looks at her. Once I figure out where its eyes are."  
  
"I swear, lately, you're no fun. You've changed, Ranma-sama,"  
Kodachi said. "These last years have weakened you. You used to be  
the hardest there was."  
  
"We'll wait here for the water," Ranma said, setting Nabiki up  
against a relatively soft chair. "THEN we can proceed to Stan's  
office. No funny business between."  
  
$  
  
They arrived two months later. It could have taken two weeks,  
but Ranma stopped periodically, much to Kodachi's disgust.  
  
"Hi, I'd like two sodas, and a large fry," Ranma said to the  
food clerk, helping Nabiki have a seat on a chair nearby.  
  
Kodachi frowned. "You're wasting time, Ranma. Stan will NOT  
approve."  
  
"I want her to be presentable when we arrive, alright?" Ranma  
said, as Nabiki nursed on the soda slowly. "Stan wants to talk to  
her, and that'll be hard if she's a vegetable, or chewed meat.   
That means not looking like the walking dead. No pun."  
  
"Ranma, she's damned. Greed. One of our watchword sins, yes?   
Who cares how she feels right now? She'll be in torment soon.   
Why, Stan even promised I could handle it! I've got some lovely  
ideas brewing."  
  
"What?!?" Ranma said. "No way! I'll talk to him about that."  
  
"You can't prevent it," Kodachi said, frowning as Ranma fed  
Nabiki fries. "Why are you bothering? If I don't handle her  
treatment, someone else will. If it doesn't start now, it'll start  
later. Nothing can stop her fate."  
  
"I don't care," Ranma said. "And I don't care of Stan gets  
mad. I don't want her getting hurt until she has absolutely,  
positively NO other way to delay it..."  
  
"She's the one that damned you, you know--"  
  
"Yeah, I know!" Ranma shouted. "Fact. Accepted. Shut up,  
'dachi, and help me feed her."  
  
"Too late, Phalli ate all the fries."  
  
"Argh. Now I gotta order more! I'm running out of cash  
here."  
  
"Why not ask Miss Moneybags--"  
  
"If you talk one more time, Kodachi, I'll have you sent to the  
Centers for sixty years," Ranma said. "For no adequate reason.   
I'm busy. Let me do my job and leave me alone."  
  
Kodachi started to say, "But you're not doing your job," but  
wisely decided against it. Ranma DID have that power. Stan had  
made him a chosen one... a controller, a master over Hell. Quite  
a bit of power. And Ranma had always held it with an iron fist,  
taught by the father of lies himself.  
  
So why was he working so hard at keeping Nabiki comfortable?   
Kodachi shrugged. Allow a man his fancies, she supposed. He'd be  
back to his usual devious self after this fiasco. He always did,  
even during moments of softness. Ranma could be relied on to sink  
back to any depths he climbed out of.  
  
$  
  
When the day arrived that Nabiki entered Stan's office, the  
666th room on the 666th floor next to the 43rd bathroom (because  
there was no real need for 666 bathrooms, that's just silly), she  
was able to walk on her own. She was about at the level she was at  
upon arrival; a bit more meek, but physically well.  
  
"Ah, there you are," Stan said, finishing signing a paper and  
placing it on his 'Out' box. He retracted the ballpoint, and got  
up to greet his visitors.  
  
"Yeah... I'm here," Nabiki said, simply stating what was true.  
  
"You do know, why, yes?" Stan asked. "I can present an  
official list of charges, but they're mostly general ones, of  
course. Making a pact with me, selling off Ranma, doing some not  
entirely moral things in the name of money... the Kunou-harem  
didn't help."  
  
Ranma perked an eyebrow.  
  
Nabiki blushed. "So that's it? I'm going to be tortured for  
eternity?"  
  
"That's about the shape of it, yes," Stan said. "I was  
truthful, mostly, when I first saw you. It's your lust for money  
that attracted our attention, and we DID want you. Greed is quite  
an easy button to push."  
  
"Why did you even care? Just looking for more innocents to  
steal?" Nabiki grumbled.  
  
"Innocents? Has she seen company policy yet, Ranma?"  
  
"No, sir," Ranma said.  
  
"The truly innocent have little to fear from us," Stan said.   
"We respect people who can hold their head above water in the  
proving grounds of man. No, it's the people teetering into the  
dark side that we go after. To test them."  
  
"Test? Torture, you mean."  
  
"Stereotypes," Stan grumbled. "Torture is a tool, yes, but we  
gave up using it as the ONLY tool. We test them. We test the  
strength of resolution, to overcome temptation of evil. A test was  
tailored for Tendou Nabiki, and I'm afraid she failed it pretty  
hard. If that wasn't enough, you just kept sinking after that,  
even after we set things in motion. You killed hundreds when you  
demolished Nerima, including your family."  
  
"They were told to get out! I posted warnings, I tried to get  
them to leave... we had to go ahead with the construction date, or  
it'd look unusual to our competitors..."  
  
"And you'd lose money. Tendom, the great benefactor. The  
money machine," Stan said. "That's not why you're here now. If it  
was just your sins, we'd have collected you upon your natural death  
instead of inducing it."  
  
"Eh?" Nabiki asked. "Then... why now?"  
  
"Simple. Ranma needs a replacement. He's served long and  
hard, but he finally found a contract loophole wherein he could  
collect you to be his stand-in, in return for his freedom," Stan  
said. "Ranma, you're free to go. Thanks for your help. I've  
arranged for your travel papers to Heaven... you'll meet Akane  
there."  
  
Ranma looked distant for a moment, then snapped back into the  
here and now. "Umm, okay."  
  
"Ranma? You sold me?" Nabiki asked.  
  
"Well... you kind of sold yourself... I mean, just  
substituting me didn't guarantee you a way out..." Ranma faltered.   
"It's all part of--"  
  
"You sold me!" Nabiki spat. "And you think you're any better  
than me? Retribution still means committing evil, regardless of  
your intentions, you bastard!"  
  
"Look, it wasn't like that!!" Ranma yelled. "I've paid my  
dues, dues I wasn't supposed to pay at all! You forced me in here  
and took me away from Akane... to get back to her, I'd do  
anything... yeah, even if it means damning you! I don't care.   
Take her, Stan, I'm gone."  
  
"Alright. Nabiki, I'll set you up with an office job after  
your hazing," Stan said, signing some forms. "I figure a few dozen  
years in the Center will make a good opener, to get you used to  
things. Do you prefer psychological, physical or sexual torture?"  
  
Nabiki and Ranma gulped.  
  
"Or, if you want, we can custom tailor it so you spend less  
time there. But it'd hurt quite a bit. Compression, you see,"  
Stan said. "We've got a lot of option plans, so you can pick what  
you'd like. Well, not like. But whatever you think you can deal  
with and stay sane. If you go insane, it sets us back a few years,  
you see--"  
  
"This can't be happening..." Nabiki mumbled.  
  
"Sorry, but it is," Stan said. "Don't worry, you're not the  
first to say that. Here, let me give you a quick sampler, so you  
can see what's available."  
  
And suddenly, Nabiki wasn't in the office anymore.  
  
She was falling, falling into a void... no. Into a pile.   
Green, but not grass. She landed, painfully, in a lump of  
quarters, gold bars, hundred dollar bills, thousand yen bills,  
pounds, marks, rubles. She broke her leg in half on impact.  
  
Nabiki screamed out loud, and got a mouthful of pennies in  
return. She gagged, but the floor of money surged up into a tidal  
wave around her, engulfing her totally. She vomited, coughed, and  
was only able to breathe nickel, paper and copper... money, all the  
money she had ever made with Tendom, filling her lungs, scraping  
painfully along her throat, crushing her--  
  
"NO!" Ranma screamed, pulling on Nabiki's arm, jerking her out  
of the nightmare. She blinked, and was back in the office,  
unharmed, able to breathe.  
  
"Problem?" Stan asked.  
  
"Forget the whole thing. Deal's off," Ranma said. "I want  
you to take Nabiki back home."  
  
"She's ours eventually, Ranma--"  
  
"I don't care! I don't... I WON'T be the cause of having this  
happen to her," Ranma said. "I don't care if you order me, or  
torture me, or keep me here for six million years. I won't do it."  
  
"Ranma..." Nabiki gaped. What was he doing?! If that was a  
SAMPLE, what Stan would do to Ranma would be incredibly bad...  
  
"I've had worse," Ranma said, nearly reading Nabiki's  
thoughts.  
  
"Insubordination carries a heavy tag," Stan said. "You have  
your walking papers, Ranma. You deserve to leave. Take them and  
go. She DID damn you..."  
  
"I know, and it doesn't matter anymore," Ranma said. "Let her  
go. I'll stay. I'll take whatever you throw at me as punishment,  
and I'll never see Akane, but it doesn't matter anymore."  
  
"Ranma, you'd do that for me? After... after all those things  
I did..." Nabiki thought, as every memory of her sins surfaced,  
unearthed by that taste of pain. All the evils she committed in  
the name of progress. In the name of fortune. In the name of  
money.  
  
"Yes, I will," Ranma said. "And that's all I have to say."  
  
With that, the room filled with white light... soft, soothing  
white light, and they weren't in the office anymore. They weren't  
in Hell anymore.  
  
$  
  
"You've passed the final test," Stan said, landing gently on  
the shores of a white sanded beach, along with Ranma and Nabiki.  
  
"Eh?" Ranma asked. "Wha..."  
  
"You were given vengeance and wrath on a platter, and chose  
self-sacrifice instead of destroying your enemy," Stan said.   
"That's commendable. You've learned well, and your reward is this.   
Welcome to Heaven."  
  
"Wait, what?" Nabiki asked. "I thought... eternal  
punishment..."  
  
"If it was eternal, we'd overcrowd and serve no function in  
society," Stan said. "No. We reform. We drive a man to  
repentance. Some take a short amount of time, some a longer  
amount... Ranma, you've succeeded."  
  
"I'm in Heaven? This isn't a trick by the Irony Department?"  
Ranma asked.  
  
"'tis what I said," Stan stated. "Welcome. And I'll miss  
you. You were sinister at times, but in the end, I admired your  
recovery against the odds we put in front of you."  
  
"If this is Heaven, where--"  
  
"I'm here," Akane said.  
  
Ranma span on a wingtipped heel, face to face with an angel.   
This was Akane... in all her grace, her beauty, draped in fine  
white robes. Smiling softly, more than she would in her earthly  
tomboy attitude.  
  
"Thank you, Ranma," Akane said. "I was worried you'd never be  
able to leave..."  
  
"Akane... finally..." Ranma gasped, completely overcome with  
joy. He ran to her, and they held each other tight, before  
vanishing, off to paradise. The final reward.  
  
"I'll miss the lad," Stan said, wiping an eye. "Of all the  
reforms I've orchestrated, his was perfect. A textbook maneuver.   
Now... to new business."  
  
Nabiki sighed. "Heaven looks so nice..."  
  
"Hey, you might end up here," Stan smiled.  
  
"..." Nabiki said.  
  
"What, you think you're going back to Hell? Ha ha!" Stan  
laughed. "No, no, we just needed to use you to finish Ranma's  
repentance. The final tool. If we told you ahead of time, it  
wouldn't work, of course..."  
  
"I'm not damned?" Nabiki asked.  
  
"Nobody is," Stan said. "Ranma wasn't damned. He could get  
out whenever he wanted. But at first, he assumed he couldn't, and  
he sank into evil... assuming he was supposed to, that it was  
proper. That guaranteed his internship would last a long time.   
That worried me. But you, you helped me crack the shell we put on  
him, to bring him back to rights."  
  
"But me! Am I damned? I don't want to go to Hell... I won't  
want to be punished..."  
  
"Hey, who does? Except maybe Kodachi. No, you're going to  
Earth. But with a warning," Stan noted.  
  
Nabiki nodded, and listened closely.  
  
"If you continue your path of life until death without  
changes, you're mine. You have admitted your sins of greed, your  
money-lust, your intense desires for it. The horrible lengths  
you've gone to to get your money. But there is hope. If you can  
go back, knowing what you know now, and work to change that... to  
increase your karma, to fix your wrongs, to amend the evil, you'll  
get the final reward of paradise. If you don't, well, it'll be a  
long stopover in my domain before achieving the final reward."  
  
"I can avoid it? I can repent? There's still time?" Nabiki  
asked, eternally hopeful.  
  
"There is always time," Stan said. "No futures are set. But  
how you proceed is up to you. You can continue to seek your money,  
doing anything for it regardless of what you KNOW is right, or you  
can stop and try make repairs. It's that effort that will save  
you."  
  
Nabiki nodded, absorbing the information like a sponge,  
filling her with energy far more than Ranma's efforts to keep her  
alive. Now, she truly was alive; she had noble purpose. She had  
a REASON d'etre, beyond the call of the cash. Her path was clear.   
  
"And now," Stan said, as the scene faded, "It's up to you.   
Because that's the end of my lesson, and there is nothing more to  
say." 


End file.
